My friend, please take my card.

April 1.2.3.4, 2009

Istanbul, Turkey

Everyone has friends in Turkey. Specifically everyone who runs a restaurant, a street stall or a booth in the Grand Bazaar is your friend – your good friend. How do I know? They have all told me – repeatedly.

We flew into Istanbul, in a very comfortable Turkish Air jet, on the overnight from Bangkok. With the nine and half hour flight and the change in the time zone we had a fun time getting onto the metro and making the connection to the tram to get to our hostel. After that, we wandered the streets with our heavy packs on and at the mercy of a bad map and the equally bad directions of half a dozen locals.

We are staying in the oldest part of the city and there is an ancient (500 AD) city wall down the street. The bulk of the Blue Mosque rises in the near distance and the roof of the hostel offers a view the Bosphorus – the strait separating Europe and Asia. Istanbul is located on both sides of the water.

Many of the structures that you see here date from 500 AD or were built during the glory days of the Ottoman Empire. It is unusual to see an 800 year old wall with a new building using it for support.

Since Istanbul is the largest city in Europe (did you know that?) we plan to only see a small part of it. The Grand Bazaar and Spice Markets were a hoot for me but a bit of a strain for Lana. Every shop or stall has the owner standing in front of it and they are like, shall we say, a little aggressive. Did I mention that they are all men as well?

At the better shops, they are quite polite and will be happy to get you a cup of tea to discuss business over. At the small cheap stalls, the only English words they seem to know are “Hey Lady”. Many of them will try anything to start a conversation usually based on where they think you are from. Wearing my hat from Australia seems to generate some interest in my non-existent horse or perhaps just the hope that shouting “Cowboy” will prompt me to buy everything in the store.

The failsafe for them and us is the business card. If you find yourself cornered just ask for one of their cards and say you may be back later. If they can’t get your attention any other way they may force a card on you. I have quite a collection right now.

The aggressive salesmanship aside, the Grand Bazaar is really one of those places you have to visit to believe. Just finding your way through is an exercise in navigational expertise akin to being dropped blindfolded into a shopping mall parking lot at Christmas and trying to find someone else’s car.

Have toured two Sultan’s palaces and think that they knew how to live. My favourite was seeing a basket of emeralds from the old royal treasury. Each of them was half the size of a chicken egg. Have to get me one of those.